


Cetera Desunt

by wintergrey



Series: Vade Mecum [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Confusion, Friendship, Injury, Love, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The rest is lost.</i>
</p><blockquote>
  <p>“Hey, son, are you okay?” A heavy-set man is puffing toward him, fanny pack jingling, camera bouncing on his belly, combover flapping. Sandals, cargo shorts, mid-west accent. Tourist. “Damn, if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Did that crazy hurt you? Did you call nine-one-one?”</p>
  <p>“I, no. No I don’t need an ambulance, thank you.” Steve shakes his head and the world spins. “That was… he’s a friend. He’s just in trouble.”</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Cetera Desunt

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: For the next several instalments, life gets a little bumpy for everyone. Things are hard when everyone in the family is dealing with some kind of trauma. There are bumps and bruises and bruised feelings and some bad words—but lots of love nonetheless. If that kind of thing being unresolved for a few instalments is stressful for you, check back in at _Stet Fortuna Domas: Let the fortune of the house stand _and catch up.__
> 
> * * *
> 
> __

“Bucky, no!”

Sam’s shout is still echoing in Steve’s ears when he jumps. He’s a hundred feet off the ground with no way to break his fall. His hand closes on Bucky’s wrist and that’s all that matters.

Bucky’s eyes are wide in his white face, framed by his mane of wild hair. It’s how Steve remembers him in nightmares: falling.

Steve has no idea how they’re going to land but he pulls Bucky into him, twists to hit the ground first. Bucky’s arm is tight around his neck and Bucky’s voice in his ear is barely audible over the wind.

“Why?”

The ground erases any answer. Steve crumples, rolls, one arm curled around Bucky’s head to protect him from the rocky streambed where they land. He knows it’s over when the pain creeps in. Neither of them would have survived the fall if they were only human.

“Christ, Steve, why?” Bucky blocks out the sky, leaning over him. His eyes are clear, focused. He’s himself under the filth and exhaustion and stubble, irritated with Steve for doing something stupid and brave, like nothing’s changed all these years. “Can you move?”

“I think?” One arm isn’t answering properly, Steve’s legs are on fire but his feet scrape obediently on stone when he tries to push himself up. He’s cold, takes a moment to understand that he’s lying in shallow water. “Yeah. I’m okay, Bucky. Don’t worry about me.” Something hot and wet is running down his face. His hand comes away red.

“You goddamn—” Bucky grabs him by the shirt front and belt, hauls him up onto dry land, lays him down on his back. The pain in Steve’s shoulder makes his stomach lurch. “—pain in the ass. Cracked your head, dislocated your shoulder. This is exactly like when the guys dared you to ride the fire escape down to the alley.”

“You remember.” Steve’s the one who’s confused now. “I thought it went all the way down, like a ride.”

“And you fell off. Never had any damn sense, Steve. Trusted too much. Don’t move.” Bucky looks over his shoulder, back up at the bridge. “They’re coming.” He braces himself, Steve remembers to exhale and go limp. The pain is unique and dizzying, but the joint slides back into place. “Just stay. Lie still.”

“You have to go.” Steve sits up in spite of the order. Blood runs down his neck, a hot tickle disappearing under his collar. “Take this.” With his good hand, he fumbles in his jacket for his wallet. “You’re too thin, you need to eat. You’re going to get sick.”

“HYDRA is coming and you’re worried about me eating?” Bucky’s hiss of frustration trails off; he takes the money out of Steve’s wallet, which makes Steve feel a little better. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going now.”

“Come back.” Steve forces himself to focus. “After. Please.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky straightens, backs away as he tucks the money into his pocket. “I can’t promise. This might not last.”

“Try.” Steve gets to his feet, ignoring his body’s protests. “Bucky, just promise you’ll try.”

“Be careful, okay?” Bucky says instead. “I can’t always be there to stop you from doing stupid shit. And listen to Sam.”

“You know Sam?” Steve wonders how hard he hit his head.

“Just be careful, Steve. Those guys aren’t the police.” With that, Bucky turns to go. He sprints down the stream bed even as Steve hears shouts coming, the rising thud of a helicopter somewhere beyond the trees. Moments later, Bucky’s lost in the shadows of the dense foliage along the gorge.

Steve moves on autopilot, dials in to a secure line that will connect him to Agent Hill. It’s not perfect and they’re probably listening, but it’s something.

“This is Hill, you’re connected, Commander. Please report.” Her crisp voice is calming.

“Recently had a visual on the Winter Soldier but I’ve got interference at the Taft Bridge.”

“We’ve been alerted, Commander. Do you need assistance?” Something flashes up on the bridge, catching Steve’s eye. He can’t see what it is but he’s certain it’s one of SHIELD’s making their presence known.

“No, but I do need to report that at last sighting, the Winter Soldier is aware of himself. Approach with caution but he is lucid.” Steve isn’t sure how lucid he is at the moment. Everything is a little surreal. “Rogers out.”

“Hey, son, are you okay?” A heavy-set man is puffing toward him, fanny pack jingling, camera bouncing on his belly, combover flapping. Sandals, cargo shorts, mid-west accent. Tourist. “Damn, if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Did that crazy hurt you? Did you call nine-one-one?”

“I, no. No I don’t need an ambulance, thank you.” Steve shakes his head and the world spins. “That was… he’s a friend. He’s just in trouble.”

“Come sit down, son.” The man has him by the arm, leads him toward what Steve now realizes is a manicured walking trail. “Right there, on the steps. Martha, get some water. He says he doesn’t want an ambulance.”

“I’ve got it, John.” The wife. Halo of silver curls, apple cheeks, blue eyes, flowered dress. Probably makes perfect cookies. She pours water from a bottle into a folded handkerchief. The wet cotton is cool. “You poor boy. You don’t know how badly you’re hurt. Call nine-one-one, John.”

“I already did.” That’s a new voice, slender Chinese man with sports-glasses, spandex, neon shoes, water pack. Long-distance runner, local. “That’s a hundred and twenty-five feet from the bridge to the gorge. I can’t believe you’re not dead. And the other guy just ran off?”

“He had to go. I have to go.” Steve tries to get up but hands hold him back and a chorus of scolding rises like a flock of birds.

“Hey, aren’t you Captain America?” Short, round, chin-length dreadlocks, dark skin, hoodie, headphones, backpack. Student, maybe. Bright brown eyes, narrowed. “That’s how come you’re not dead.”

“Yes, I am. Folks, it’s very good of you to—”

“Move aside, people.” Policewoman, scraped-back black hair, golden tan, freckles, regular uniform. Foot patrol. “Sir, are you—”

“It’s Captain America, he saved a crazy guy,” the student offers.

“I’m fine, officer.” Steve pulls himself together, focuses enough to read her badge. “Officer Diaz. Can you please take statements from these witnesses, collect contact information in case we need to confirm details. I apologize for the disturbance.” Lying and distraction. It works and this time he gets to his feet unimpeded. His phone beeps at him. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” He glances over her shoulder—the black-clad men have pulled up and are investigating the general area.

“Yes, sir.” Diaz takes out her notebook. “Now, who was first on scene?” The witnesses all begin to speak at once, as usual.

Steve does his best not to wobble as he steps away. The text is from Sam.

_Do you need me?_

Sam. Shit. Sam. Steve looks back up at the bridge but there’s no one there among the crowd that he can make out as Sam. All Steve remembers is Sam reaching for Bucky as Bucky went over the edge. And Steve went right over after Bucky. Steve can’t quite put it all together but he knows something’s wrong in the same way the prickle on the back of his neck says he’s being watched from a distance.

 _I’m okay._ That’s not the answer to the question. _Where are you?_ Neither is that.

_I’ll get the car._

Something’s wrong. More wrong than the helicopter tracking the length of the gorge, more wrong than the armed-response officers beating the bushes for Bucky and pretending that they didn’t intend to kill or capture Steve along with him.

Steve and Sam. They could have taken Sam right then and there, if it weren’t for the confusion—or maybe Sam saw the writing on the wall and ran. Sam wouldn’t just bolt, though. He’s too smart for that. He’d wait to see if Steve needed him, without putting himself in danger. Without letting anyone know he’d been there with Steve once the cameras came out.

“I’ll call in for your report, Diaz,” Steve says as he starts moving. Every step hurts, his feet are screaming at him, his shoulder is throbbing, his head is pounding.

“Sir, you’re injured,” Diaz calls after him.

“Don’t worry, Diaz.” Steve puts on a grin, turning to give her a reassuring wave. “Got a medic waiting for me.”

Steve follows the trail back toward where he and Sam left the car. It’s a long walk up a winding set of stairs, in the cool shadows of the trees, and it’d be pleasant if he didn’t hurt so much. The knowledge that Bucky is okay—or was, even for a moment—wars with the sense of disturbance still looming over him.

There’s Sam’s car, waiting. The shadow of a helicopter crawls over it like a spider, then skitters off into the gorge. Once it’s gone, Sam gets out, comes around to open the passenger door. He doesn’t say anything, just looks Steve over as he approaches. His expression is strangely blank and that hurts worse than anything physical.

Steve gets in, buckles up carefully so he doesn’t make his shoulder hurt worse than it does. Sam slides into the driver’s seat.

“Sam, I—”

“Don’t talk.” Sam buckles up with a few sharp motions, starts the car. He moves fast but Steve can see his hands are shaking.

“—I’m sorry,” he says, anyway.

Sam still doesn’t say anything, his lips are pressed together in a thin line. His face is a locked door. Steve realizes he doesn’t want to know what’s behind it right now. The tires squeal as Sam corners tightly to get them out of the parking area.

“Hospital?” Sam asks, once they’re on the freeway.

“No. Thank you. I’m okay.”

“Aside from the concussion,” Sam says flatly.

“Yeah.” Steve can’t breathe, but it’s not physical. “Dislocated my shoulder but Bucky got it back in.”

Sam just nods. Steve doesn’t even know what he’s sorry for right now but he is really, really sorry for it. He tilts his seat back a little because he knows he’s probably in shock or something. The world beyond the window is a green blur and Bucky’s out there in it, somewhere.

He found Bucky but he still feels as though he’s lost something. He doesn’t know what it is or if what he just did was worth whatever it cost him. If he doesn’t have a name for the thing that’s missing, he has no idea how to get it back. How do you find something that has no name?

Then, Sam’s warm hand covers his where it lies, dirty and bloody and empty, on his thigh. When Steve glances over, Sam isn’t looking back at him but his hand curls around Steve’s, his fingers tangle with Steve’s, and he holds on. It feels like being rescued—being found. Like being loved.


End file.
